Little Freddie was a good friend of mine, and many times as two horse players, we would exchange our stories about our ups and downs with the ponies. He was really nice guy. I knew his wife, and he just a very pleasant person to be around . Because I was into my own addiction of gambling, I never said to him “maybe you’re gambling too much.” I just didn’t do it.
Lo and behold, I was told that Freddie was in the hospital with a heart attack. I was curious as to what were the circumstances that led up to the heart attack. This is the story that I received. If you want insanity, here it comes. From a gambler. About a gambler.
Little Freddie owed the loan sharks many thousands of dollars. And he couldn’t pay them. And, if anyone is familiar with loan sharks, if you persist in not paying them, you may sustain some physical injuries, or even death. So Freddie owed a lot of money to the loan sharks. They were after him to pay the money.
He told them: “I don’t have the money; I can’t pay you.”
But they said to Freddie: “You know the rules. If you don’t pay us, bad things can happen to you and your family.
So, Freddie says: “Okay. I’ll get back to you.”
Freddie went home, talked to his wife and told her that the loan sharks had threatened him. His wife was so disgusted that she said: “Well, go back and see what is going to happen to you. I don’t care anymore.”
Freddie went back to the loan sharks and said: “I spoke to my wife, and she doesn’t care what you do to me. And neither do I. So, if you are going to kill me, kill me. But make it like a painless death. I don’t want to suffer. You can kill me, because I can’t pay you.”
With that kind of a presentation to the loan shark, the loan shark broke down in a big laugh. “Freddie, you are no good to us dead. We want the money.”
But Freddie said: “Well, I don’t have the money.”
So, again, Freddie goes home and that night, he sustained a heart attack.
We have to assume that he was so upset about what was going to happen to him and his wife that it brought on a heart attack. And he wound up in the hospital. I got the word that he was in the hospital as well as his other friends got the word. After a few days of being in the hospital, he was allowed to have visitors. But I didn’t have a chance to go see him. I think his wife wasn’t too much in love with me, because she knew I also played the horses. But his other friends went to see him. By this time, Freddie was lucid, he was sitting up in bed, and he told his friends about the loan sharks.
And they said: “Well, Freddie, we warned you that if you get in too deep it could be very, very difficult to get out without sustaining some kind of a problem.”
Freddie says: “Well, I tell you what. You guys get me a racing form and get it to me every day. And while I’m sitting here in the hospital, I’ll make my selections at Aqueduct or Belmont—” or whatever track he was betting at. “I’ll give you my selections. And then you fellahs advance me the money. And then if I die, you can go to my wife, and from my insurance money maybe she’ll reimburse you.”
Well, his friends thought he was nuts, but then they figured: “Well, okay.”
So, each day, they would bring the racing form to Little Freddie. Unbeknownst to the doctors and unbeknownst to the nurses, he was handicapping the races with the racing form while he was supposed to be lying in bed and recuperating. Lo and behold, he goes on a winning streak. Laying on a hospital bed, he was making his selections, and the horses were winning.
Now he is parlaying his bets, hoping to make enough money so he can pay back the loan sharks and his friends. Everything is going well for him. His friends were amazed. All of a sudden, he is winning every day.
Then, one night, his friends came to see him, and they said: “Freddie, we have bad news for you.”
Freddie said: “Don’t tell me the horse didn’t win.”
They said: “Freddie, the horse didn’t win.”
With that, Freddie again had lost all his money. In the hospital, all the machines started to go flickering up and down. He had another heart attack. The nurses came in, and they checked his vital signs, and they exclaimed: “Oh, my God, he has had a heart attack again.” They called in the cardiologist, and they saved his life. And the doctors were puzzled: he was doing so well there for a while. He was recovering.
So the doctors asked his friends: “You saw him every day. He seemed to be making progress. What was happening?”
Then his friends confessed: “Well, Doc, we didn’t tell you, but every day we brought him a racing form. And he was making selections. And he was winning. He was parlaying his bets, hoping to make enough money to pay back the loan sharks and us. Lo and behold, he made one bet too many, and he lost everything. End result: he had another heart attack.”
The doctors were amazed at the story. “We cannot believe what you are saying.”
“Well, you don’t know much about gamblers, my friend, but that is what he was doing. While he was laying here in bed, handicapping the races, we were making the bets with our money. He was going to reimburse us with his insurance money if he dies, and lo and behold, he doesn’t die. He had a heart attack. And he loses everything.”
The doctors told his friends: “Don’t you ever come back here again, and don’t you ever bring a racing form or anything near him about gambling.” And with that they left and never came back again.
Little Freddie stayed in the hospital for quite a while, recovered from his heart attack, and eventually returned home. He promised his wife that he would go to Gamblers Anonymous and never bet on the horses again. And by the grace of God, he never did.
You can see the extremes a gambler will go to. Here he is close to death, in the hospital, and he wants to make one more bet. His friends brought him a racing form. He got his wish. He was winning. He was beside himself. His vital signs are perfect. All of a sudden he loses, and—bing!—he has a heart attack again. And he almost died.
If you know any compulsory gambles like Freddie and I, all you can say is: “Good luck!”
When I lived in Las Vegas, I had the occasion to fly to Reno, Nevada, on a regular basis. One day on my return flight from Reno, there were many, many happy gamblers chatting things up, talking about how they were looking forward to spending time in Las Vegas. This was going to be their first time, and they were excited about seeing all the casinos and watching all the shows, and the like. Las Vegas is a pretty exciting place, as I lived there for many years.
On this particular flight, I got to talking with a gentleman who clearly came from one of the southern states, and when I told him I lived in Las Vegas, he said that this was his first trip to “Sin City.” Did I have any gambling tips for him that would help him possibly be a winner.
Well, I’m a loser. I freely admit it: I’m a loser. I mean, if I were a winner, why would I be flying in coach. If I were a winner, I would be flying in first class.
I wanted to tell them that I was a loser, but instead I told them I could tell them stories.
So, I began to tell them a story. My story is based on an actual occurrence. I happened to go into the Flamingo one Saturday. The Flamingo is a huge casino-hotel complex with an architectural theme reminiscent of the Art Deco and Streamline Moderne style of Miami and South Beach. There is a garden courtyard, wildlife habitat featuring flamingos. Hence, the name. The Flamingo was the third resort to open on the Strip and is the oldest resort on the Strip still in operation today.
Anyway, I was walking around the casino, and I saw an old lady playing dice at a craps table. And, she was winning! I don’t know why I started watching her. Maybe it was because of her dress. She wore these long white gloves, and she threw with her left hand. Maybe she wore these gloves because she thought they were lucky or something. She wasn’t very tall, and she basically had to raise herself up on the table and stand on her tippy-toes to throw.
The game of craps is a pretty simple game. You throw the dice: there are two. The numbers on the die faces are added together, and that number determines whether or not you win some money. If the first throw of the dice is a seven, you are a winner. If it is a two, a three, or a twelve, you lose. But most of the time it will be a number other than those four numbers I mentioned. That number is now your number. You are now betting that your number will come up before a seven is thrown. Because when the seven is thrown in this case, you lose. You crap out, and that’s where the phrase comes from.
This old lady was throwing basically fours and tens. Consistently! And people were attracted to the table and betting on her, not the numbers. You will find this happen in the casino a lot. When a player seemingly appears hot or on a hot streak, other betters will play the same numbers in hopes of winning as well. And, again, in this case, she and the other betters were winning with her long streak. She finally crapped out, but not before she reaped a handsome profit.
The casinos have eyes everywhere, and there are experts who watch virtually every patron in the casino. They are particularly interested and on the lookout for certain behaviors. Any kind of streak becomes suspicious, because there are dice experts who are pretty good at throwing dice and having the faces of the dice coming up with the right numbers. Why she didn’t draw more attention to herself I don’t know. Maybe she was a regular. Maybe this particular Saturday she was just lucky. Eventually, I lost interest and walked away.
So, back to the plane trip and talking with these gamblers, I told them this story, but I started to embellish it a bit. I mean, I made out that every Saturday this little old lady could be seen playing craps. Oh, and it had to be the same table every Saturday. And, she was always throwing fours and tens.
Now, to illustrate just how wacky gamblers are, I told them to go to the Flamingo on a Saturday and look for this old lady with the long, lucky white gloves, and throws dice with her left hand.
Well, the people who were listening to me started talking to others and pointing at me.
“Hey, he lives in Las Vegas, and he just gave us a tip! He told us to go to the Flamingo and look for this little old lady who wears white gloves, throws dice with her left hand, and wins with fours and tens.”
To me, it was a great joke, but it also illustrates to me—now, not then—just how “lost” gamblers can become. They’ll pray for a tip and believe anything and everything told them.
I don’t know if these gamblers ever went to the Flamingo and searched for this old lady. I wish I had, because it might have been more fun for me to see if they really believed that a little old lady would make it a habit of coming to the casino every single Saturday of the year, much less throw mostly fours and tens every Saturday, and win a lot of money from the casino without the casino employees becoming ether suspicious or taking some other kind of action. I would love to have those odds: I’d be traveling first class everywhere I go, and the banks in Switzerland would be beholding to me.